


Music to My Ears

by Anubis_2701



Series: SakuAtsu Fluff Week 2021 [5]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 5+1 Things, Birthday Party, Drunkenness, Feelings Realization, Flirting, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Implied Sexual Content, Karaoke, M/M, Minor Injuries, Music, Mutual Pining, Rollerblades & Rollerskates, SakuAtsu Fluff Week 2021, Sakusa Kiyoomi is Bad at Feelings, Singing, Swearing, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:01:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29123097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anubis_2701/pseuds/Anubis_2701
Summary: “Come onnn, Omi! Just one song!”“Absolutely not.”Atsumu pouted, folding his arms and propping his chin up on them. “Buzzkill.”Or, 5 times Sakusa refused to let the more annoying Miya twin hear him sing, and 1 time he chose to perform for Atsumu after all.
Relationships: MSBY Black Jackals & Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: SakuAtsu Fluff Week 2021 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2115333
Comments: 2
Kudos: 126
Collections: SakuAtsu Fluff Week 2021





	Music to My Ears

**Author's Note:**

> SakuAtsu Fluff Week Day 5, Tier 3; "Can you sing for me?"
> 
> Big thank you to my lovely beta [Ankal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ankal/pseuds/Ankal) for helping me polish this up!! You're an angel <3

1

* * *

The first time when the whole team got dragged out for karaoke wasn’t too horrible.

To put it bluntly, Kiyoomi didn’t want to go. At all. He despised ‘team bonding activities’ on the best of days, even more so when said activities had nothing to do with volleyball. And given how much he hated them normally, bonding activities that involved being shoved into a small room with a dozen other grown men to sing publicly was essentially one of his worst nightmares made incarnate. But assurances from Meian that the rooms were spacious, a promise from Coach Foster that he wouldn’t have to sing, and the wonder of the world that were Hinata’s puppy-dog eyes had him piled into the back of a taxi on the way to karaoke when Friday hit.

He twitched as Hinata and Inunaki sang along to the song playing over the radio, trying and failing to reduce the incessant screeching they called “singing” to background noise. He leant an arm on the windowsill and stared at the neon lights blurring in the rain-speckled glass. Next to him, Hinata wriggled excitedly.

“Are you keen to sing, Omi-san?” he asked, eyes bright and full of hope. Kiyoomi shuffled slightly. Of all the monster generation players on MSBY, Hinata was by far his favourite. They’d joined the team at the same time, so they’d taken comfort in being rookies together, not to mention that Hinata, for all his exuberance, had always shown respect for Kiyoomi’s boundaries, and never been put off by his taciturn personality. It always felt so wrong to disappoint him, but Kiyoomi had resolved to never sing in front of others, so Hinata would be sorely let down if he’d been looking to hear him sing.

“No, sorry,” he murmured, feeling legitimately apologetic, “I’m not the best singer, and I’d rather not subject any of us to that.”

“Aww,” Hinata pouted. “Not even one song?”

“No.”

“Ahh, that’s too bad,” Hinata sighed, before whirling back to face Inunaki, “do you think I could convince Bokkun to sing Hatsune Miku with me?”

It was a relief when they pulled up outside the venue, though the sight of Atsumu and Bokuto already roughhousing and acting up outside made him sigh in exasperation and resign himself to a long night. Usually, he wasn’t so adverse to team bonding – he liked spending time with his team – but team bonding rarely involved both alcohol and singing, so he was a little nervous to see what would happen.

“I want the first song!” Hinata exclaimed as he ran up the stairs alongside Bokuto, a much more eager participant in these proceedings than Kiyoomi could ever pretend to be. He sighed, tugging down his mask and following them as they careened wildly into the room. Why had he come again?

Judging by the look on Meian’s face he, like Kiyoomi, was regretting that he’d been roped into coming. Rolling his eyes, Kiyoomi followed the sound of excited babbling, slipping into a seat as far away from the others already inside as possible. Hinata and Bokuto were already preparing the microphones – Hinata had apparently been successful in his bid to duet Hatsune Miku – while Inunaki and Adriah, armed with vastly different priorities, were examining the drink menu. Kiyoomi ignored both groups in favour of his phone, able to fall into a bliss of scrolling mindlessly through Twitter for maybe five minutes before music blared to life and the real torment began.

Hinata actually wasn’t too bad a singer, as Kiyoomi quickly discovered, especially when singing in Portuguese (which made Adriah whoop very loudly in encouragement). Bokuto was less apt, though, so their duet ended up alternating between pleasant passages and sections that grated on both Kiyoomi’s eardrums and his patience. He was one of the first to put his order for a very alcoholic drink in when Inunaki offered, sighing in defeat when Bokuto decided to try his hand at _Babymetal_ of all things, rubbing his temples and willing away a migraine before he’d even reached the chorus.

“Ya look downright miserable, Omi-Omi,” Atsumu, perhaps the most insufferable person in the room, said with a grin as he slid into the spot directly to Kiyoomi’s right. “Loosen up a little! Have some fun and sing a song or two!”

Kiyoomi glared at him. If Hinata was his favourite member of the Black Jackals, Atsumu slotted confidently into the position of least favourite. For all his talent, the setter was obnoxious and arrogant, too happy to inflate his own ego as opposed to fixing any lacklustre sets. Atsumu’s counter to any criticism was usually something along the lines of ‘hey now, ya hit it, didn’t ya?’.

He was, in a word, infuriating. Kiyoomi regretted little about joining MSBY, but being crammed into the same starting lineup as Miya Atsumu was probably his most prominent gripe.

“I’d rather not,” he replied primly, taking another sip from the drink he’d ordered, facing determinedly towards the screen, eyes tracing the lyrics to…Cotton Eye Joe. Would he be looked down on for getting trashed?

Atsumu didn’t seem content with his answer, shuffling ever closer into Kiyoomi’s space and pouting childishly.

“Come onnn, Omi! Just one song!”

“Absolutely not.”

Atsumu pouted, folding his arms and propping his chin up on them. “Buzzkill.”

Kiyoomi glared at him. “I’m a buzzkill simply for not wanting to cater to _your_ wishes, right.”

“But _everyone_ sang tonight! Even Meian! And we all know he sees anything remotely fun as a sin paramount to murder.”

“Rude, Atsumu,” the man in question chided from across the small room. “And leave Sakusa alone. If he doesn’t want to sing, it’s more likely due to the fact that you’ve spent the night filming everyone, laughing, and calling it ‘blackmail material.’”

“Ahh, c’mon! I was just kiddin’!”

Kiyoomi glared at him. “Considering that you were teammates with the likes of Suna in high school, aka someone who I know for a fact has a _legitimate_ blackmail folder, I find that hard to believe.”

Atsumu pouted, swaying forwards even further, to the point that his hand was just barely brushing at the clothed skin of Kiyoomi’s leg. He resisted the urge to twitch away from the warmth.

“It _would_ be fun to hear everyone sing, but it’s hardly mandatory,” Inunaki laughed, “lay off, Tsumu. I’m sure you’ll get to hear it next time.”

Atsumu pouted, Kiyoomi sighed in relief, and Adriah jumped to his feet to tackle the next song.

“Next time.” Atsumu said in a low voice that made anger rankle in Kiyoomi’s gut. He glared at him.

“No chance.”

2

* * *

In a tragic and entirely predictable turn of events, Kiyoomi’s hesitance to sing became something of a fascination for his teammates.

Hinata, who once again proved to be the greatest espouser of karaoke’s benefits, had bounced up to him the morning after, eyes in full puppy-dog mode to plead answers out of him as to why he hadn’t sung.

“I just didn’t want to,” he sighed, trying to shove down the feeling that he had done something horrifically sinful when Hinata’s face shifted into disappointment. “I feel like Miya would have undoubtedly used it as blackmail of some kind.”

“Nahh, he jokes around but he’s too nice to do that,” Hinata said, making Kiyoomi wonder for a moment which Miya Atsumu _he_ had been getting acquainted with this whole time. Hinata brightened up, then. “But, next time, maybe?”

Kiyoomi wished that being brought up around people who rarely went out of their way to be exuberant hadn’t left him with such a weakness for puppy dog eyes. “Maybe.”

Hinata wasn’t the only one who was disappointed to have not heard Kiyoomi sing, though. Inunaki slung a friendly arm around his shoulders and asked if he would want to duet at their next karaoke night – a question which received a very blunt ‘no’ for an answer – and Adriah also tried the same thing, to no avail. Kiyoomi couldn’t understand the obsession, and his bewilderment skewed further in the direction of frustration when Bokuto and Meian also innocently asked him. He brushed them off kindly but firmly – he liked and respected both players, but no amount of his limited compassion or respect would let him sing in front of them.

Even Oliver tried at one point, though he openly admitted to mostly having done so at Adriah’s bidding, which Kiyoomi quickly forgave him for. He could understand their curiosity, yes, but the extent of their motivation was a little baffling.

And none were so motivated to hear him sing as Atsumu.

The blond hung off him like a leech anyway, already enough of a nuisance on a normal day without the added aggravation of him purring in Kiyoomi’s ear, begging to hear him sing. He’d taken to playing catchy songs out loud on his phone while in the locker rooms, seemingly under the impression that Kiyoomi would be so swept up by the sound of Blackpink that he would burst into the song.

And Atsumu’s efforts didn’t stop there – he tried to goad Kiyoomi into singing along to the radio when he once kindly offered to drive him to practice while it was raining, which resulted in a very irate Kiyoomi yelling, almost hitting three pedestrians, and him eventually throwing Atsumu out of his car to walk the rest of the way.

But the blond still wasn’t to be deterred, and his motivation somehow carried over to their next monthly outing. Kiyoomi had thought he would be spared – after all, Inunaki had very passionately espoused the benefits of roller-skating, which most of the team had been very eager to try – only to be disappointed upon finding that the place they went was a kind of cure-all for boredom, and included, devastatingly, a few small karaoke rooms.

He tried to stick with roller-skating for as long as possible, but after more than a few collisions with Hinata, a close acquaintance with the floor, and him managing to dislocate his knee – an easy fix because of his hypermobility, but the last straw for a queasy-looking Meian – he was shunned from the activity and ended up shoved into the karaoke room alongside Bokuto (who didn’t have any sense of balance off a volleyball court), Adriah (who had taken one look at shoes with wheels and opted out) and Atsumu (who was there purely to annoy Kiyoomi, he was certain).

“You gonna ditch your shyness from last time and sing for us, Omi-Omi?” Atsumu asked, once again invading his personal space with impunity, grinning widely when Kiyoomi glared at him. He turned his face away, feeling his cheeks heat when Atsumu leaned ever closer. The guy had no concept of boundaries, and he could feel his skin prickling, as if anticipating Atsumu grabbing him somehow.

“No,” he said curtly. “I’ve already established that I don’t want to sing.”

“But _why?_ It’s fine if you sound like a dying whale or something. We all heard Bokuto sing last time, you can’t possibly be worse than that.”

“Tsum-Tsum!” Bokuto pouted at the words, seemingly comforted a little by Atsumu’s apologetic grin.

“I don’t care,” Kiyoomi said curtly, watching as Adriah delightedly picked out a song in Portuguese, “Listen to the others. I’m only here because I got thrown off the rink.” Atsumu hummed, looking like he was ready to continue contesting the issue. Kiyoomi sighed. “Just, not right now, okay? I’m not in the mood.”

To his surprise, Atsumu took a step out of his space, looking slightly mollified. “Right. How’s your knee feeling?”

Kiyoomi blinked, a little surprised at the show of concern. “…Fine. I’m used to dislocating things, so I should be fine in a day or two.”

Atsumu hummed, before whirling around to run over to the song selection console. “Hey! Me next!”

And, confused but grateful for the reprieve, Kiyoomi lounged back on the chair and watched his teammates render popular music into incomprehensible garbage.

3

* * *

Kiyoomi should have known that Atsumu’s show of compassion at the roller-skating rink wouldn’t last forever. Within a week of him being allowed to return to practice, his injured knee healing up well, as it always did, the blond was right back to badgering him, getting up in his space and grinning all wide and bright. It was aggravating, to say the least, and every encounter of theirs nowadays left Kiyoomi feeling hot all over and more than a little irritated. He felt like a string inside him was being wound tighter and tighter, and he had no clue what would happen if he let it snap. Atsumu would get punched in the face, probably.

“Not even a single bar? Did ya get cursed by some evil witch in a past life and she left ya unable to sing or somethin’? Or are _ya_ an evil witch who considers joyful things a curse?” Atsumu gasped dramatically. “Oh, wait I get it now! Ya must be related to _Kita_ or somethin’, he always said singing was a ‘root for disorder’ or some shit like that.’”

Kiyoomi shot him a withering look. “No to all of the witch shit, and no, I don’t know your old volleyball captain, so I very much so doubt we’re related.”

“Then why do ya despise the thought of singing? Yer the only member of the team who hasn’t done it even once, so what’s yer deal? I get some people just don’t like it but ya seem to _hate_ it.”

Kiyoomi shifted his bag on his shoulder. “None of your business.”

Atsumu sighed, rolling his eyes. “Whatever. Ya really are a buzzkill, ain’t ya?”

“Sure.”

“Anyways, are ya coming on Saturday?”

Kiyoomi frowned, wracking his brain and coming up empty. “What’s on Saturday?”

“Wow, rude,” Atsumu said with a grin, “It’s ‘Samu and I’s birthday, so we invited a ton of people to come over, and I know fer a fact that ya were invited, so ya better get me somethin’ good and come along.”

Kiyoomi sighed. As much as he did want to refuse and just stay at home, perhaps video call his older sisters or clean his kitchen, he knew he would end up going anyway. If the whole team was there, it would look odd for him to leave himself out.

Besides, back when he’d been a fresh-faced rookie on MSBY, Atsumu had dragged Bokuto and Inunaki over to his apartment on his birthday to make him feel welcome. Kiyoomi wasn’t so awful as to not return the favour, after all the effort they’d gone to.

“Fine,” he sighed, so absorbed in his own phone that he missed the startled but delighted look that bloomed across Atsumu’s face. “What time?”

“Starts at 2, in my apartment,” the blond grinned, expression somehow softer than it had been just before. “Can’t wait to see ya there, Omi-Omi.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he huffed, turning his head to the side so that Atsumu wouldn’t catch the uncharacteristic redness of his cheeks. “See you there.”

* * *

Kiyoomi ended up showing up fifteen minutes late, walking into the packed front room of Atsumu’s apartment with a bag tucked under one arm and his breaths still shuddering lightly through his chest from the uphill jogging he’d done to catch his last train, but he showed up. That alone was more than he usually offered most acquaintances, so hopefully it was enough for Miya Atsumu.

The blond himself looked a little surprised to see Kiyoomi there, which was a slightly humiliating reflection on exactly how often he went out of his way to come to things like this, but the blinding grin that took over his face as he bounded over was worth the brief moment of embarrassment.

“Omi! Ya came!” he exclaimed, stopping just short of the hugs he usually plied on people, which made Kiyoomi both relieved and, oddly, disappointed as well.

“Yeah,” he muttered, “I got caught up in the city, sorry.”

“Ahh, don’t worry about it,” Atsumu said, not looking bothered by his lateness in the slightest. “I’m just glad ya came!”

Kiyoomi felt his face heat up, and shoved the present he’d bought into the other man’s chest, internally cringing now at the prospect of giving it to him. He’d considered it a good idea at the time – _funny_ , even – but now he was wondering if he should have thought of something else.

Atsumu’s eyes lit up as he pulled the bright yellow moon cactus out of the bag, and Kiyoomi rushed to explain himself, face practically aflame. “I just remember you saying that you wanted to start taking care of plants, one day in practice, and I know a lot about plants and cacti are usually a good place to start, so I thought this one would be good.” He glanced at Atsumu, who was watching him with a gentle smile on his face, and immediately averted his gaze again. “Plus, it looks like your hair.”

Atsumu laughed, then. “Damn, yer kinda right!” he held up the small plant with even more glee, before his burnt amber eyes shifted to Kiyoomi. “Thanks, Omi-Omi, I can finally have the little plant family I’ve always dreamt of.”

Kiyoomi felt his face turn even redder – how that was still possible, he didn’t know – and cleared his throat. “Well, you’d better not kill it.”

“Aww, come on, have more faith in me, Omi! I’d never kill anything ya got me!” 

As he spoke, he carefully started to carry the plant through the throngs of people and, helplessly Kiyoomi followed him, feeling warmth unfurl in his chest when he saw Atsumu gently place it on the windowsill in his kitchen, safe from any wandering hands and in a perfect position to get sunlight. The blond beamed, somehow more vibrant than the light streaming through the window, and ran back over to Kiyoomi.

“Ya don’t have to feel obliged to hang around me just because I invited ya, Omi,” the blond chuckled, “I think Shouyou is over by the food, if ya wanna say hi to the others.”

“Oh, uh, will do.”

He practically fled the scene, relieved to stumble right into Hinata and Suna by the large snacks table, hoping his face wasn’t as red as it felt. He engaged Hinata in conversation for a while, grateful for the bubbly hitter’s presence as his previous embarrassment started to melt away, just in time for Miya Osamu to show up, making an offhand comment to Suna that made the middle blocker cackle before joining Kiyoomi by the snack table.

“Heya, Sakusa.”

“Hi, Osamu-san.”

The Miya twins were strange, honestly; despite being identical (save the hair, of course), Kiyoomi didn’t feel like he could ever mistake them. Osamu was so tempered and borderline low-energy compared to his brother most of the time, that it was honestly jarring at times to spend time with both of them consecutively.

“’Tsumu hasn’t been bugging ya too much, has he? I hear ya two have been hangin’ out more recently.”

“Oh, yeah, we have, I guess,” Kiyoomi said, once again fighting a flush. Fucking hell, why did every conversation with or about Atsumu lead to his face turning red, nowadays? It was getting infuriating. “He’s been alright.”

“Hmm,” Osamu said, studying him for a minute, “gotta say, I never thought the two of ya would get along so well. Half the time he calls me he’s harpin’ on about some great spike ya did.”

Kiyoomi blinked, that tidbit of information coming as a bit of a shock. “He does?”

“Yah, all the time,” Osamu rolled his eyes, “I get updates on Hinata and Bokuto sometimes, too, but from the sounds of it, yer his favourite hitter.”

Kiyoomi blushed harder, eying the onigiri on the table with renewed vigour. “Ah.”

“He’s not too annoying, is he? He gets over-excited when he spends time wit’ people he likes.”

Kiyoomi’s stomach fluttered with the implication. “He’s fine.”

Osamu opened his mouth to say something else, only for Ojirou Aran to suddenly appear through the crowd and grab him by the arms. “Come on! Time for us to sing happy birthday to ya two!”

Osamu’s expression contorted in horror. “Oh god no.”

Aran just cackled, hauling the horrified man away behind him. Kiyoomi raised an eyebrow upon seeing Atsumu being manhandled towards the middle of the room in the same way by Kita Shinsuke and Ginjima Hitoshi. The blond shot him a pleading look, which was slightly undercut by the smile he was obviously trying to suppress.

With the twins successfully wrangled into centre-stage, the discordant notes of ‘Happy Birthday’ began ringing out, voices swelling to accompany it as both Atsumu and Osamu winced but grinned through it. Kiyoomi made eye contact with Atsumu and, smirking viciously, sang along, his own voice drowned out by the dozens around him. Atsumu shook his head slightly, still grinning, reaching over to drag his brother into a one-armed hug when the song concluded and everyone cheered happily.

“That’s unfair, Omi,” Atsumu said afterwards, sidling up to him with a small pout on his face, “I’ve been tryna get ya to sing for weeks and ya only do it when everyone else is being too damn loud?”

“Exactly.” Kiyoomi pointed out, picking up a stick of pocky and biting off the end. Atsumu huffed in despair.

“Aww, ya sure ya won’t sing fer me?” Atsumu asked, leaning into his space again and plucking the pocky from his mouth to eat it himself. Kiyoomi’s mouth dried out. “It _is_ my birthday.”

“And I already got you a gift,” he choked out, elbowing the blond in the side, “so don’t get all greedy.”

“Omi! Rude!”

4

* * *

Kiyoomi had a problem.

A 6’2’’, blond, snarky problem that spoke in sharp _kansai-ben_ . A problem that just wouldn’t leave him _alone_.

He’d reflected on the last two months or so to figure out when things had started to change, when the tide had shifted in favour of the feelings now nestled in his chest, but he couldn’t put a definitive timeframe on _anything_.

He and Atsumu hadn’t been friends for as long as he could recall. They’d started out their tenure as teammates snapping at one another every other day, before falling into a tentative peace that they’d both been happy to maintain. Atsumu’s loudness had become background noise, something Kiyoomi could easily drown out, and Kiyoomi’s quirks and habits had been tolerated and accommodated for by the setter. They had learned to live around one another, to orbit the sun that was the rest of the team in peace.

They had been happy maintaining a tentative peace, to be teammates and nothing more. Kiyoomi had no clue when they had suddenly progressed to being friends. It felt like the sort of milestone he should have been aware of; a shift in dynamic he would have noticed happening.

But suddenly, he’d gone from essentially telling Atsumu to go fuck himself at karaoke to buying him birthday gifts, joking along like they’d been friends for years, even joining him in hunting down new places to eat in Osaka’s winding side-streets after practice. None of the blond’s arrogance bothered him anymore – some days it even verged on becoming endearing – and Kiyoomi knew that the shift from hostility to friendship wasn’t the only change that had occurred.

He could feel it in the spaces they left between their hands as they walked, the peaceful silences amidst conversation, the hours they spent separated from day to day; his affection for the human calamity that was Miya Atsumu was growing and blooming larger constantly.

And Kiyoomi didn’t think he had the will to stop that growth even if he could have made an attempt to do so. Atsumu was loud and brash and expected too much of others. He also smiled like the sun, and knew to pull away and ask if Kiyoomi was alright when his buttons were being pushed just a little too hard. He had once sprayed Gatorade at Kiyoomi just to see how he’d react. He had, in the very same month, shown up to his door in a full mask and surgical gloves, bag of supplies on hand when Kiyoomi had gotten a stomach bug.

He was a study in beautifully infuriating contradictions, and under the midst of the blinding light he emitted, Kiyoomi was too weak to even present the façade of conflict anymore. Which only made them relax around each other more.

It was why he sometimes accepted Atsumu’s bottle to drink from when his own ran empty, or offered the setter frequent rides to practice in the mornings, and why they found themselves more and more choosing one another as bus buddies for games.

It was why, when Kiyoomi realised he had, in his mad rush to get to practice that morning from a late alarm, neglected to refill the fuel for his car, he didn’t hesitate to follow Atsumu’s suggestion to take the train. He hated public transport, but Atsumu’s cheery stream of chatter and slightly ruffled blond locks made the prospect a lot more tolerable.

Practice had run unusually late that day, since they’d been analysing the skills of a new player on EJP Raijin, so by the time Kiyoomi had figured out his car troubles, it was verging on 9pm.

“We might as well get dinner on the way, right?” Atsumu pointed out when Kiyoomi gave a disgruntled sigh and shoved his keys back in his pocket. “I found a great yakitori place while looking around with ‘Samu.”

Kiyoomi looked up at the other man. It sounded like a date. Judging by the soft flush on Atsumu’s cheeks, his averted eyes and the way he was fiddling with his fingers, he knew it too.

“Alright.”

The yakitori _was_ good. Watching Atsumu try and fail to use chopsticks with the hand he’d sprained in practice that day was even better. Blushing halfway to the colour of a tomato as he offered to feed Atsumu some of the meat and following through on said promise was probably the best. Not that Kiyoomi could ever admit that anywhere but his own mind.

The night was stretching into truly late hours by the time they left the restaurant, wandering oddly abandoned streets as they located the nearest train station. Atsumu consulted the route map to figure out where they had to get off while Kiyoomi closed his eyes and soaked up the cool wind rushing down the metro tunnel.

“I think I got it figured out,” Atsumu said triumphantly as he approached Kiyoomi again, one hand pulling his phone out of his pocket and pouting. “Ahh damn, it’s dead. I was gonna listen to music on the way back.”

“…You can listen to some of mine,” Kiyoomi quietly offered, rolling an earbud between his fingers almost anxiously. Atsumu looked a little taken off-guard, but smiled softly and took it as the train rolled into the station. The carriage was almost entirely empty apart from them, with only a trio of teenage girls sitting at the other end.

Atsumu slotted the earbud in, watching Kiyoomi’s screen curiously as he selected a song. Kiyoomi chose one quickly, feeling oddly self-conscious as the first notes filtered through, opting to close his eyes to better take in the music.

He couldn’t see Atsumu’s reaction, but the blond didn’t step away in horror, so he could guess his music taste wasn’t too horrendous. He relaxed more into the situation when Atsumu shifted slightly closer to him, arms brushing together. He let his eyes open after a few more songs had slid past, to find the carriage empty save him and Atsumu. The setter was smiling. Curious, Kiyoomi tugged his earbud out. “What?”

“You were hummin’ along to the music,” Atsumu explained, “it’s not singin’, I know, but yer voice sounded nice.”

Kiyoomi flushed from the roots of his hair and down, staring determinedly out the window. “…Thanks.”

“I really would love to hear ya sing, you know,” Atsumu mused, “not because of the joke, anymore, I just…anyways, I’d like to hear it.”

“In your dreams,” Kiyoomi murmured, though the words held far less sincerity than they usually would. His skin prickled, stomach flipping pleasantly when the train slid away from another stop. His station was the next one, and he could tell by the restlessness in Atsumu’s frame that he, like Kiyoomi, didn’t know how to sufficiently end this strange night of theirs.

The train started to slow again, Kiyoomi’s station completely abandoned and bathed in flickering lamplight. He took his earbud back silently, pausing the music and sliding his phone back into his pocket. After all, he didn’t usually listen to music on the train.

He turned to face Atsumu slightly, heart stuttering at how ethereal the other man looked under the strange combination of fluorescence and hazy lamplight from outside. The moment almost didn’t seem like it was happening, somehow feeling disconnected from reality altogether. In that moment of suspended strangeness, Kiyoomi saw Atsumu’s eyes flick to his lips.

The tracks beneath the train started to screech, signifying they would soon come to a complete stop, rattling the carriage but not even remotely permeating the strange atmosphere.

Kiyoomi found himself leaning in, their faces so close that he could feel Atsumu’s warm breath ghosting over his skin. His heart was hammering nervously in his chest, fingers twitching with anticipation as the tension between them reached a careful crescendo. 

Atsumu moved first, hand sliding to cup his jaw just a moment before their lips connected. Kiyoomi leant into the contact, eyes falling shut for the barest moment as his mouth tingled with warmth from the kiss. Then Atsumu was pulling away, hand falling to his side and curling into a fist like he was resisting the urge to punch the wall. He turned his face away. “Sorry, I…”

Kiyoomi felt shell-shocked, stomach flipping relentlessly. _Oh wow_. 

He wanted to question the slightly melancholy look in Atsumu’s eyes (Did he already regret it? Was it just an impulsive move? Maybe he didn’t like Kiyoomi after all-). He wanted to run his hands through his soft hair (it had always looked like it would feel like silk, but Atsumu probably wouldn’t want his hands near his head-). He wanted to kiss him again-

_(But he might not want to kiss me back.)_

The announcement system declared their newest destination as the train halted fully, doors sliding open. Kiyoomi jolted back to himself, startled, “This is my…”

They both fell silent, air thick with the enormity of what had just happened. Atsumu’s eyes were cast downward. “…Talk to you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, tomorrow.”

5

* * *

They didn’t end up getting the chance to speak the next day; Kiyoomi showed up late since he had to walk rather than drive, and by the time he stumbled in the doors, sleepless from thinking about what had happened on the train and exhausted from walking, he was tossed straight into practice. He did diving receives with his eyes sagging shut and got up on leaden legs to do blocking with Bokuto.

His teammates were entirely too cheery, with Hinata and Adriah alike seemingly pulling at Atsumu from both sides to have him set for them, and the blond had never been able to resist Hinata’s sunshine smiles. It wasn’t a flaw Kiyoomi could blame him for, considering he possessed it himself. He made eye contact with the blond as he walked by, heart stuttering painfully when he saw regret shining in Atsumu’s eyes.

_Shit_. Did Atsumu regret kissing him? Was he going to be cornered after practice only to be told that the events of last night should never have happened, and they should stay only as teammates? The mere thought sent pain spiking deep through Kiyoomi’s chest, and it was with a sinking stomach that he trudged through the rest of the day.

But he didn’t even have time to face the indignity of being politely rejected, since right before practice was set to end, Meian gathered them all around with a grin on their face.

“You guys have been working really hard, recently,” he said, “and I know we won’t have as much time to hang out together and have fun in the coming weeks when games start up, so Oliver and I decided that tonight we’d treat you all. Teppanyaki and alcohol are on us tonight.”

Delighted cheers rose around them, with Hinata and Bokuto practically hollering with delight. Meian grinned. “Good to hear. Now go get clean and dressed so we can have some fun!”

The others scrambled to obey, and Kiyoomi found Atsumu pulled away once again in the flurry of movement, once again out of reach as he watched the head of dyed blond hair walk away from him.

His lips tingled absently with the memory of their kiss last night, and he tamped down on it viciously as he showered thoroughly, towelling his hair off almost violently when he stepped out, focusing almost frighteningly on his conversation with Inunaki to avoid looking at Atsumu. The setter didn’t make any moves to talk to him, either, but Kiyoomi caught sight of an almost wretchedly upset expression, feeling his heart twist again in his chest.

Dinner was tolerable enough; the teppanyaki was exactly what he needed to replenish his energy and boost his low mood, as was the conversation about the growth of the Italian volleyball league that he and Inunaki were ensconced in for most of the night.

But after dinner came clubbing, a pastime Kiyoomi enjoyed but never went too far out of his way to partake in. He was an emotional and impulsive drunk, a combination of factors that seemed critically ill-advised considering the metaphorical timebomb that was the tension lingering between him and Atsumu. It was even worse when they ended up in a car together, courtesy of an excited and oblivious Hinata.

“Come on! This is gonna be so fun!” he exclaimed with delight, grabbing Kiyoomi with one hand and Atsumu with the other, hauling them both towards one of the Ubers that Meian had called for them all. Kiyoomi winced when Hinata jumped into the front seat, greeting the driver cheerily and leaving him and Atsumu to awkwardly glance at each other and climb in the back. If the other man noticed the awkwardness between them, he didn’t say anything, happy to steamroll over every moment of silence that arose as they drove.

“I should get you two over sometime to try _porradinha_ some time!” he said happily. “My friend Nice taught me how to make it while I was in Brazil! It tastes amazing!”

Kiyoomi nodded, clenching his hands into fists and wanting nothing more than to get out of the car as Atsumu smiled weakly and did his best to keep up with Hinata’s incessant talking. On the one hand, it was good to have a buffer for the silence that would have undoubtedly been lying thick between them anyway, but Kiyoomi also wished he had at least a small amount of time to talk to Atsumu before they let alcohol and bad decision making take over the rest of their night.

The car stopped outside the club they’d all agreed to meet up at, the thumping of the bass audible even from within the car. Kiyoomi winced a little, already not looking forward to the chaos he knew would consume them the minute he stepped inside. Without thinking, as Atsumu was reaching for his door handle, Kiyoomi wrapped a hand around the blond’s wrist, a silent plea for him to stay near.

Atsumu halted, staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face before he followed Kiyoomi out of the car through his door, the connection between their hands staying unbroken the whole time. Kiyoomi swallowed, watching as Hinata bound forward without preamble, and thought to himself, _fuck it_.

He tugged his hand away from Atsumu’s arm, not giving the blond time to pull away completely before he took his hand. Atsumu stiffened, staring at him with wide eyes before quickly interlacing their fingers, thumb smoothing gently over the back of Kiyoomi’s hand.

Not a word was passed between them as they walked in and navigated the crowds towards the table Meian had reserved for them, but Kiyoomi could feel the tension in the air easing and dissipating. _I’m not going anywhere,_ their clasped hands said, _and I don’t regret a thing_.

Shots were slid towards them across the table the minute they slid into neighbouring seats; Atsumu downed his with a grin, Kiyoomi with a grimace. He silently thanked the darkness of the club for preventing any questions about their hands - still joined under the table - and shook his head when another shot was offered to him.

And alcohol kept flowing from there. Though Kiyoomi cut himself off when he felt his tipsiness start to bleed into legitimately drunk territory, Atsumu seemed high on a victory undetectable, accepting everything offered to him with a blinding grin. With every mouthful of alcohol that slid down his throat, he slumped further into Kiyoomi’s space, to the point that, after throwing back an entire Long Island Iced Tea, he was practically draped entirely over Kiyoomi’s side.

Meian came back from ridiculous dancing with Bokuto and Adriah to see Atsumu practically in his lap, hugging Kiyoomi waist with great enthusiasm and nuzzling into his stomach.

“You right?” Meian asked Kiyoomi, seemingly sated by his casual nod. “Man, he’s had a lot, huh?”

“Absolutely wasted,” Kiyoomi said, shaking his head in equal parts exasperation and fondness. “Do you think I should take him home? He hit his limit about an hour ago, and we all know what’s gonna happen now.”

“Yeah, might be for the best,” Meian chuckled. Kiyoomi nudged Atsumu, dragging the bleary-looking setter up into a sitting position. “Oh, wow, he is _gone_.”

Kiyoomi stifled a laugh, successfully looping one of Atsumu’s arms around his shoulders before manoeuvring them into a standing position. “Come on, Atsumu, let’s go home.”

“Yer gonna take me home?” he asked, stumbling slightly before a dazed grin spread across his face. “Omi’s too nice. I love Omi.”

Kiyoomi froze at the words, blinking as a flush spread up his neck and cheeks. Meian, a few drinks in himself, just chuckled good-naturedly. “My, he’s in a good mood.” Atsumu nuzzled into him, pressing his face and head right up against Kiyoomi’s neck, making Meian’s smile falter a little. “Hey, if he’s gettin’ a little too touchy, I can take him.”

“It’s fiiine,” Atsumu slurred, pressing his nose against the hinge of Kiyoomi’s jaw, “this is _nothin_ , aight, aight?” Kiyoomi readjusted the stumbling blond, who just grinned more. “I kissed ‘im yesterday and everythin’.”

Kiyoomi reddened again, his blush only worsening when Meian shot him a curious look. The colour in his face had evidently gotten noticeable even under the roving strobe lights, because their captain just smiled softly, looking so legitimately happy for them that it made Kiyoomi’s chest squeeze slightly. “Ahh, I see. I’ll leave you to it, then. Have a good night.”

“Thanks,” Kiyoomi said, hauling Atsumu up with him as he properly stood. “You too.”

The blond was fine as they waited for a cab, jovial even as he sang loudly along to the radio and pressed light kisses into the side of Kiyoomi’s neck. But as they clambered out and paid, his face contorted in a clear sign that the alcohol was starting to catch up in a bad way.

“Omiii, I don’t feel good,” he whined, leaning up against Kiyoomi as he struggled with the keyhole to Atsumu’s apartment.

“We’re almost inside, don’t worry,” Kiyoomi soothed him, just avoiding pumping a fist in victory when he got it unlocked and let them both in, gently ushering Atsumu’s jacket off and steering him into the bathroom to sit by the toilet and ride out his nausea.

It was a good thing he did; he left the room to fetch water for a minute and came back to his – maybe boyfriend? – vomiting profusely into the bowl. He winced, setting the glass down on the sink edge before leaning down to comb Atsumu’s sweaty blond hair out of his face and pat his back soothingly.

“Ugh,” the setter groaned, sipping the water Kiyoomi had gotten him obediently and spitting before flushing the mess away. “Sorry, Omi-Omi.”

“It’s okay,” he chuckled, helping him up again. “Maybe we should get to bed.It’s late.”

Atsumu raised no complaints, following him obediently and shucking off his clothes – Kiyoomi averted his eyes with a fiery blush, at that point – and pulling on pyjamas before collapsing sideways into bed. Kiyoomi found a large plastic bucket that he thought would do well to contain anymore puke, tucked a towel under Atsumu’s head and over the bed near his face, and stacked spare cushions up behind him to stop him rolling onto his back.

_He won’t remember any of this tomorrow_. Kiyoomi had seen Atsumu this drunk several times before, and that was always the truth. Once the man started to roll his head from side to side and squint at things right in front of his face, it was a sign that he had verged into blackout drunk territory.

Kiyoomi sighed, tucking the towel more securely under Atsumu’s head, adjusting the bucket for good measure. The blond groaned softly, looking adorably ruffled even with the stench of vomit still clinging to him. “Omiiii…”

“Still here, Atsu,” he murmured, combing Atsumu’s hair back from his forehead and wondering if the man had any hair clips to pin stray locks back with. Kiyoomi himself had some, but those were all the way over in his apartment, on the other side of the city. He found himself stroking a thumb gently over Atsumu’s cheekbone, watching the gentle fluttering of his eyelashes.

“Why don’ ya sing?” Atsumu slurred, shifting so he was closer to Kiyoomi, the hand not curled loosely around the rim of the sick bucket finding the front of Kiyoomi’s jacket. “Yer so damn beautiful, Omi, ya’d sing like an angel.”

Kiyoomi felt his heart skip a beat, though the effect of Atsumu’s surprisingly sweet words was quickly overshadowed when the blond groaned, flipped himself back over the edge of the bed and retched violently again. Kiyoomi rubbed at his back, using a corner of the towel to wipe Atsumu’s mouth when he was done. “Ugh. Hate bein’ sick.”

“Then you shouldn’t drink so much,” Kiyoomi gently chided him, standing again to ensure the barrier of pillows he’d propped at Atsumu’s back were still in place. The last thing he wanted was for the blond to roll onto his back and throw up in his sleep. The mere thought made anxiety slice through his stomach, and he devoted yet another minute to wondering if he should just stay the night, to be sure that Atsumu was okay.

Atsumu made a whining noise, grabbing at him clumsily with flapping fingers, “Omiiii…”

“You need to go to sleep, Atsu. You’ll feel better in the morning if you can grab a few hours of rest.” He would also undoubtedly wake up with a killer hangover, but that had become an inevitability after the 7th or 8th shot.

“Omiii…” Atsumu whined again, warm hand sliding around Kiyoomi’s wrist, “will ya sing me to sleep?”

Kiyoomi bit his lip, hesitating even as Atsumu pouted and gave him puppy-dog eyes that were incomparable in their sweetness.

_He won’t remember any of this tomorrow._

Kiyoomi shifted back, sitting down on the bed next to Atsumu and running a hand through his hair gently. Atsumu made a small, pleased noise, nuzzling into his touch. Kiyoomi swallowed. He hadn’t sung in front of anyone in ages, and though Atsumu was drunk out of his mind and half-asleep from his touch alone, he couldn’t help the anxiety that rose up inside.

_Consider this is a rehearsal of sorts. A performance that will be swiftly forgotten by the audience anyway._ He took a deep breath, and obliged Atsumu’s long-standing request.

_“Wise men say……only fools rush in…”_

Atsumu was already dozing off under his palm, and Kiyoomi stared at his face, using his peaceful features to ground himself as he sang to empty air

_“But I can’t help,”_ he closed his eyes, _“……falling in love with you.”_

\+ 1

* * *

Three days after they’d gone out, once Atsumu had recovered from the monumental hangover he acquired from his drink-fest, Kiyoomi shoved his phone in his pocket, shrugged on a jacket, checked his hair three times to make sure it looked okay, and crossed town to get to Atsumu’s apartment.

The blond looked a little baffled when he knocked on the door, but let Kiyoomi in with a slightly bashful grin and a light blush.

“Hey, uh, I wanted ta apologise fer anything weird I mighta done when we went out,” he scratched the back of his head, “I, uh, musta gotten a little over-friendly, or somethin’, because Meian keeps congratulating me for finally startin’ to date ya.” He blushed vibrant red, and Kiyoomi found himself smiling slightly.

“Well, you mentioned to him that we’d kissed, and I didn’t refute the point, so that’s probably why,” he waved a hand, “but we can work out where we’re going on our first date later. I wanted to do something.”

Atsumu spluttered, obviously taken completely off-guard, could only gape in shock and confusion and follow him into the sitting room. “Wha-”

Kiyoomi pushed him into a sitting position on the couch, taking a seat next to him and trying to not let his heart beat out of his chest. “I…I want to sing for you.”

Atsumu’s mouth slammed shut, eyes widening as Kiyoomi pulled his phone out of his pocket, bringing up the song he’d picked out a while ago. “Ya really wanna-”

“Yes,” Kiyoomi said shyly, “I honestly don’t think I’m any good, and I had a distant relative tell me I shouldn’t sing when I was younger, so that seems like a good sign that I don’t have much natural talent at it, but…well, I can’t possibly be worse than Bokuto.” Atsumu chuckled at that, and Kiyoomi averted his eyes. “I just…have a strange singing voice, alright? So, don’t judge me for it.”

“Never,” Atsumu breathed, staring at him in a way that abated some of the anxiety stewing in his gut. Kiyoomi swallowed, braced himself, and started the music on his phone, forcing himself to open his mouth and sing along when the first notes of ‘Valerie’ drifted through the speaker.

_“Well, sometimes I go out by myself…and I look across the water…”_

Atsumu was watching him, rapt with attention as the opening bars sunk through, and, unable to face the brunt of his burnt amber gaze any longer, Kiyoomi averted his eyes and continued the song.

_“And I think of all the things of what you're doing…in my head I paint a picture…”_

Miya Atsumu was a good listener, silent and attentive throughout and not giving so much as a hint of what he thought as Kiyoomi made his way through the deep, rich notes of the words. Granted, even if he had reacted in grand fashion, Kiyoomi would hardly have noticed, given that he kept his gaze affixed on the couch for almost the entirety of the song.

_“Why don't you come on over, Valerie?”_

The last line came out smooth despite his reservations, and Kiyoomi folded his hands after turning his phone off, plunging them into silence before he finally turned to look at the other man, his cheeks burning when he saw Atsumu’s gaze still on him. He had been expecting more gloating and more triumphant sass from the blond now that he’d gotten his wish. He had nagged and bugged and prodded at Kiyoomi for months now to sing, but now that he had finally gotten the performance he wanted, he was silent.

He could feel his ears burning. He tried not to let those past relative’s comments about his singing get to him anymore, though it had definitely had an impact on how often he let himself do it. “I know I’m not very good at it, but-”

“Omi, I…” Atsumu interrupted, still staring at him with those strange, almost spellbound eyes, “I dunno who told ya yer singing was trash, but…they’re a fuckin’ liar.”

Kiyoomi stared at him. “What?”

“Ya…fuck, ya really don’t know what yer own voice sounds like, do ya?” Atsumu combed his hair back, leaning forward to stare deeper into his eyes. “Omi, believe me when I say it now. Ya sing like a fuckin’ _angel_.”

Kiyoomi shuffled. “You’re biased.”

“Yah, but I also know music. That sounded beautiful.”

Kiyoomi felt himself get redder. “……You really mean that?”

“Of course I mean it,” he said, reaching out to gently card a hand through Kiyoomi’s curls, “ya just get more and more perfect, I swear.”

He stared at the blond, struck dumb for a moment before he launched himself forward and yanked Atsumu into a deep kiss, one that wasn’t limited by the tip and sway of a train carriage. Atsumu groaned, wrapping his arms around his waist and tugging him closer, running his tongue along Kiyoomi’s lower lip until he gasped and granted him access to the rest of his mouth.

Hands shifted from his waist to his upper thighs, and Kiyoomi gasped softly when he felt himself being lifted into Atsumu’s lap, held close like he was something precious. He just kissed the blond harder, trying to get across every bit of the love he had for the other man.

Atsumu made a small noise against his mouth, tipping him back and pressing him down onto the soft leather of the couch. Bodies together, warmth and touch connecting them, Kiyoomi decided that he knew how he wanted this strange ballad of theirs to end.

“Make love to me,” he whispered, pressing his lips to the side of Atsumu’s neck. The setter shuddered, strong arms wrapping around Kiyoomi’s waist.

_“God, yes.”_

(The subject of music was quickly forgotten in a haze of rapid breathing and slow, sweeping touches. But Kiyoomi, who kept Atsumu trapped for hours by the legs he wrapped around the blond’s waist and nails he raked down his back, was more than happy to sing for him again.)

* * *

“So, what song?” Bokuto asked from his position by the menu, grinning at Atsumu as Inunaki handed over the microphone. The blond considered the many options, before his eyes glittered with what seemed to be a burgeoning idea, and he grinned slyly.

“Any Amy Winehouse on there?”

Kiyoomi glared at him, no real heat behind the expression. It had only been two weeks since their late-night tryst in his apartment, with a surprisingly mature conversation the next morning resulting in them deciding to try at a relationship . They’d been dogged by a bit of awkwardness both during practice with the rest of MSBY and when just spending time alone together, but they were starting to push through it.

And, as Kiyoomi had found, he really _liked_ spending time with Atsumu. They bickered plenty still, but it was done with a much fonder tone of voice now, and being tugged along on dates definitely wasn’t a bad feeling.

(Sleeping with Atsumu was a very big bonus, too. His many locker-room brags about his ‘experience’ hadn’t been lies.)

And now they were here, at what had started this whole mess; another karaoke outing with the rest of their team. The irony, and hilarity, were not lost on Kiyoomi in the slightest.

“Yup!” Bokuto exclaimed with a grin in answer to Atsumu’s question. “They got ‘Back to Black’ on here.”

“That one, then,” Atsumu said with a grin, picking up the spare microphone, offering it to Kiyoomi, “duet with me, Omi-Omi?”

Kiyoomi eyed the microphone suspiciously for a moment, taking it as the song’s intro started to bleed through the speakers.

“I’ll make you regret this, Miya.”

“I sure hope ya do.”

And, forcing down the grin threatening to break over his face as he gazed at his boyfriend, Kiyoomi lifted the microphone and began to sing.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hello to me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/2701Anubis), [Tumblr](https://anubis2701.tumblr.com/), or, if you're a fan of my fics generally (both BNHA and Haikyuu) my [Discord Server!](https://discord.gg/VeAaGy3at9)


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